


here is the place you fill (see how it is empty)

by sailingthenightsea



Series: this is destiny [6]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Babies, F/M, also a light reference to jaskier's apparent immortality, an exploration of The Bond, and what that means for my favorite father daughter duo, and why they will soon, ciri being the Ultimate Baby, found family is The Only Jam, he's good tho, i hurt geralt i'm so sorry, jaskier being baby, why yen and ciri don't get along, yen being baby in her own way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24189085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailingthenightsea/pseuds/sailingthenightsea
Summary: They were just meant to be training. Geralt had decided the pent up energy was nearing blow up levels, so he’d suggested an afternoon of sword fighting in the woods. Jaskier and Yennefer had opted to tag along to watch rather than hang around the inn or tavern.Geralt had been grinning and she’d been laughing, breathless and sweating. Her arms had burned, but she was too wrapped up in the clang of metal against metal and the rush of the fight to care.Evidently, they’d all been distracted.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: this is destiny [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594753
Comments: 52
Kudos: 173





	1. where you have gone

**Author's Note:**

> i'm back! i've had this first chapter written for a while, but life got busy with the second half of my study abroad program and then coronavirus, but i've been back in the states for a while and i've finished my semester so here we are!! i'm hoping to get chapter two finished by tomorrow (if not tonight).

They were just meant to be training. Geralt had decided the pent up energy was nearing blow up levels, so he’d suggested an afternoon of sword fighting in the woods. Jaskier and Yennefer had opted to tag along to watch rather than hang around the inn or tavern.

Geralt had been grinning and she’d been laughing, breathless and sweating. Her arms had burned, but she was too wrapped up in the clang of metal against metal and the rush of the fight to care.

Evidently, they’d all been distracted.

Because suddenly the smile fell from Geralt’s face as he stilled and fear twisted in Ciri’s stomach. “Run,” he’d breathed, taking the sword from her and pushing her towards Jaskier in one fluid movement.

Yennefer had started towards him, but he’d shaken his head and she tucked herself back into the brush with Jaskier and Ciri, out of sight.

Geralt is very quickly surrounded. She feels Jaskier’s hand settle on her shoulder, somewhere between comforting and restraining. It feels a little like she can’t breathe.

Briefly, his yellow eyes meet hers. The tightness in her lungs eases.

Then she watches as one of the men sinks a blade into Geralt’s abdomen and she’s close enough to see the pain twisting on his face. Before she can scream for him, a hand claps over her mouth and she’s dragged backwards, struggling. She smells the ozone before she hears the air separate and she thrashes against Jaskier’s hold. As the world tilts dangerously, she lands a hard blow to Jaskier’s middle, hears him grunt, and she launches herself toward Geralt, but the portal closes and she lands in a different forest where frost crunches under her hands.

Ignoring the turning of her stomach, she gets to her feet and rounds on Jaskier and Yennefer. Jaskier is doubled over, clutching his middle, the sight of which sends a bolt of satisfaction through her. Yennefer is just watching her, though, shoulders squared and ready for a fight.

She seethes. “What did you _do_?! You just _left him_!”

Yennefer keeps her voice even, unaffected. “I did what Geralt asked me to do if things went wrong—”

“I COULD HAVE HELPED HIM, BUT _YOU_ —”

“And _what_ exactly could _you_ have done?”

Ciri is white hot with rage as she whips around and screams, lets the power spill out in one short burst, shaking the ground and splitting the nearest tree in half with a loud crack. After, there is silence. Her ears ring and her chest heaves.

“You have your mother’s power,” Jaskier breathes and Ciri turns to face him, soft surprise briefly coloring her expression.

“I didn’t know she had it until Geralt. I didn’t know _I_ did until Nilfgaard…” She doesn’t explain further, but knows they understand her well enough.

A beat passes before Jaskier speaks again. “So Geralt knows?”

She nods, then, “Yes. There was a nightmare. Then there were bandits that took us by surprise. They would’ve killed us both, but I… stopped them.” It is not regret in her voice, though it’s obvious to them she didn’t enjoy whatever she had done. But it’s also clear by the way her expression hardens into something determined that she’s willing to do it again—would have done, too, had they not stopped her. “I could have helped him,” she repeats coolly, glaring daggers at Yennefer.

Yennefer opens her mouth to respond, but Jaskier beats her to it. “If Geralt knew and still told us to get you out of there if things went wrong, then he likely didn’t want to chance anyone _else_ finding out.”

“Last time there was no one _left_ to find out.”

Jaskier’s face softens and she wants to hate his pity. “This time there could have been. Geralt wants to keep you safe, Ciri, which is why he wanted you away from those men. _We_ ,” he gestures between himself and Yennefer, “want you safe as well.”

She feels a lump in her throat start to form, but she tries to swallow it. “I’m _safe_ —” her voice breaks and she ignores the tears welling in her eyes, blinks them back and swallows again. “I’m safe with Geralt.” She tries to steady her voice with a deep breath, but it shakes and catches as she exhales. “He’s– he’s the only family I’ve got left,” she manages. Her voice breaks again on family, but she otherwise holds herself together.

A stray tear rolls down her cheek, but she scrubs it away harshly. _I will not cry_ , she thinks, and tries another steadying breath. The first is fine, but the second catches and she lets out a soft sob. More tears escape and she wipes them away, fighting to breathe evenly.

Jaskier reaches for her, but she jerks away, snaps, “Don’t _touch me_!” And he freezes. Watches with those big stupid sad eyes as she tries so very hard to not fall apart.

Yennefer never moves, never drops her carefully blank expression.

Ciri takes another step back. And another. She’s lost control of her breathing as her chest heaves and catches and sobs tear their way out of her throat and she can’t stop crying. Another step and she half falls half sits on the freezing ground, pulling her knees up to her chest and lets herself shatter into a million tiny pieces.

And for a while, that’s how they remain. A sorceress, a bard, and a girl, brought together by one man none of them know how to lose.

“He’s survived worse than that,” Jaskier says when the silence returns.

Yennefer’s face shifts finally, but it’s only for a moment before the ice is back. “It doesn’t matter now. We can’t help him. If he’s alive, he’ll find us. If he’s not—”

“He _is_ ,” Ciri spits. “I would feel it if he died.”

A flicker of something crosses over Yennefer’s eyes, but she tucks that away too before anyone can read it. And that’s what bothers Ciri so much about the woman in front of her—she never lets anyone read what she feels, good or bad.

She looks Ciri up and down before nodding slightly. “I know somewhere safe we can go,” she says. “She’ll let us stay for a few days while we wait.”

“Okay,” Ciri says, the closest to a truce the two of them have reached in days.

Jaskier grins tentatively, and rocks backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet. “Sounds good to me. Which way?”

Yennefer raises a single eyebrow, and with a gesture, opens another portal. It sparks at the edges and swirls a little irregularly, but that’s how all of her magic has been since she found them.

“Ugh,” Jaskier says.

Ciri just squares her shoulders and heads straight for it. Yennefer grabs her arm before she can step through. She jerks away when she feels sparks against her skin, but she stops.

“Jaskier first, then you.” Ciri wants to fight, still has that irritation fizzing under her skin, but she can feel Geralt somewhere between her lungs and next to her heart, a tiny weight where an empty hole used to be, and she knows he’d want the same thing.

“Ugh,” Jaskier says, and he steps through the swirling purple mist. Ciri follows, grimacing at his retching on the other side. Then Yennefer closes it behind her.

Her hands are shaking and she looks tired, but Ciri doesn’t know how to reach out. Geralt is easy because she sees him clearly no matter how hard he tries to make it difficult. Even when she’s angry with him, even when he says something he doesn’t really believe, she can feel the echo of his own emotions in her chest. And Jaskier makes it simple, just putting all of himself out there for the world to see.

But Yennefer makes herself impossible to understand. The only person who seems even a little capable of reading her is Geralt, but he’s not here, so Ciri just lets her hide everything away.

They walk through a new forest for a few minutes before the trees thin and a small cottage appears in the middle of a clearing. At the door, there’s an old woman smiling like she knows every secret in the world and each one pleases her.

“You’re alive,” she says to Yennefer when they get close enough to hear without her having to shout. “And you brought me company.”

“Meira,” she greets, nodding once. “You said if I ever needed somewhere safe…” she trails off, something like sheepishness softening her features.

“I did,” Meira says, “and I meant it. You are always welcome here—you and your friends.” She smiles, patting Yennefer on the shoulder and she doesn’t stiffen like she does when anyone else touches her.

Yennefer breathes out a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she says and Ciri blinks, confused at the way she sounds like she means it.

“Yes,” Jaskier says, “thank you so much, ma’am. My name is Jaskier and this is—”

“Fiona,” Ciri interjects. All three adults turn to look at her—two in mild surprise and one in consideration.

“Lovely to meet you, _Fiona_ ,” Meira says, amused. “You might want to rehearse the fake name delivery prior to introductions, but you’re definitely a clever girl to be cautious.”

She juts out her chin, narrowing her eyes as she searches the old woman’s face. “My father says to never trust people you don’t know, no matter how non-threatening they seem.”

When she says “father”, both Jaskier and Yennefer look at her with something soft and sad in their eyes (one much more obvious than the other) but she ignores it. He’s _alive_. She _knows_.

Meira grins. “Then you’re father is clever as well.”

“He is. And he’ll be here soon.”

“If he’s half as tough as you, then I’m sure he will be,” she replies. Then, “I know I’m still under inspection, but would you like to come in while you decide if I’m trustworthy?”

As much as Ciri would prefer to stay contrary and furious, she’s tired and scared and she knows Yennefer wouldn’t take them somewhere unsafe. So she nods, and Meira leads them inside her little home.

-

It’s three days later with still no sign of Geralt, save the little weight in Ciri’s chest telling her she’s not alone again. She defends it with all of her, getting into several screaming matches with Yennefer over what they do if he doesn’t come.

Jaskier learned pretty quickly to avoid that topic altogether after one ill-advised attempt at comfort that ended in under two minutes with a frigid glare that mirrored Geralt’s exactly. Honestly, he hopes to never be on the receiving end of that look from them both at the same time.

If Geralt’s still alive.

Part of him believes he is, believes in Ciri. But part of him keeps playing the memory of the blade sinking into his abdomen over and over again.

In those early days with Geralt, he’d been next to useless in… truth be told, most areas of life. Over the last twenty two years, though, he’s learned a lot to do with a lot. Generally speaking, playing clueless keeps him out of the line of fire—or close enough to allow him an easy escape while Geralt takes care of whatever monster he’s hunting this time.

A large part of what he learned was emergency healing, considering how frequently Geralt has ended up with a major wound too far out to get to medical help in time. So Jaskier started tracking injuries as they occur during a fight, trying to be ready to stop the bleeding as soon as possible.

So when he watched the knife’s angle of entry, he’d felt his stomach bottom out. There’s no way the blade didn’t pierce something vital. _If_ Geralt’s alive, he’s in no condition to fight off eight men and then track them down with only a general feeling in his chest and a tug in his gut to guide him.

Jaskier had always thought one of Geralt’s monsters would kill him long before Geralt would meet his own end. It had been this tiny seed of guilt in the back of his mind for years of their friendship, knowing that, _one day_ , Geralt would likely blame himself for his death. When a decade had passed and he’d hardly aged, he wondered for the first time at the sparks he feels in his fingertips while playing Geralt’s song on Fillavandrel’s lute. When one became two, he figured he would be hanging around for a while longer and never bothered mentioning it.

What he hadn’t considered was losing Geralt and having to live on without him. He’d grown out of that early hopeless love a couple years before dragging Geralt to Cintra. In the years that followed, he had found a deeper love between them, built on trust and forgiveness and understanding. He’d grown up and he’d realized Geralt hadn’t been the only one who needed a _friend_.

Now, he’s left here, reeling. Hoping to every God he’s ever heard of that he’s wrong. That the feeling in Cirilla’s chest is Destiny and not just desperation.

That’s when she starts seizing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a cliffhanger? by me? noooooo >:)


	2. (tell me) all the ways they sang it wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cliffhanger: resolved.

Yennefer left her alone with Meira because the two had been getting along better than expected. Meira adored Ciri because she has spunk and Ciri is naturally drawn to strange and mildly terrifying adults. Or at least that’s Yennefer’s best guess considering her general track record.

They were preparing supper together, laughing and chatting happily. It was the most cheerful she’d seen Ciri since Geralt– since the woods.

For a moment, she’d thought maybe things were okay.

And then Meira had started shouting. Yennefer is there in seconds, Jaskier close behind.

Meira’s on the floor, kneeling over Cirilla, who’s seizing, blood dripping from her nose and eyes rolled into the back of her head.

When Yennefer sweeps her hands over the girl, sparks fly and her magic warps in and out of control, but there’s nothing, no curse, no hex, nothing and nothing and nothing.

All three adults are on their knees, looking helplessly on until it finally _finally_ stops.

“He’s coming,” Ciri says, eyes focused on Yennefer with an unsettling clarity, holding the fabric of her dress in a tight fist. “Geralt’s alive and he’s coming.”

Yennefer nods because she feels like she’s supposed to do _something_ here. Ciri’s grip loosens, eyes quickly growing tired. She nods back, the movement slow and unsteady. Then her hand falls to the floor and her head lolls to the side, her whole body going limp as she loses consciousness.

Jaskier makes a noise of distress and Yennefer sweeps her trembling hands over Ciri’s body again and again, finding nothing still. Nothing until a faint _something_ , like a string pulled taught, tying her to someone else, someone unseen. Yennefer trails her fingers over the line and finds the familiar shape of Destiny and Geralt’s magic at the end of it.

For the first time in days, she feels like she can _breathe_.

Meira looks between them with worry etched into the deep lines of her face. “Who’s Geralt?”

Jaskier turns to Yennefer who laughs a little breathlessly. “Her father. He’s alive.”

-

Five hours later, Ciri wakes up in the spare bed she’s been using for the last few days. Jaskier’s asleep in a chair next to the bed, his head laying next to her leg, and Yennefer’s sitting against the wall, knees pulled up to her chest and head tipped back, watching them both with feigned disinterest.

“Hi,” Ciri says, pushing herself up into a half sitting position. “What happened?”

Yennefer gets up, crossing the room to hand Ciri a glass of water before settling on the edge of the bed, opposite Jaskier. “You scared us,” she says and it’s soft in a way Yennefer never is.

“Sorry,” Ciri says because it feels like she should. There’s a quiet moment. “I– I know you don’t believe me, but—”

“I do,” she interrupts and Ciri blinks, surprised.

“Oh. Um, okay. Well, I, uh, I heard him. Geralt. He said my name and then everything went dark, but I could still hear him. He sounded scared.” She twists her hands in her lap, drops her eyes to them. “I’m not sure who he was worried about… me or himself.”

Yennefer sighs. “Knowing him, probably you.” There’s a moment when she tries for a half smile, but it comes out a little too sad to hit the mark. “I felt him,” she says and Ciri jerks her head up to meet her eyes. “When you were seizing, I was trying to figure out what was happening. I found a link from you to him. It was just a second, but I recognized his magic. He felt… He’s okay, I think.”

Ciri nods. Then, quieter but with a spark that’s been missing since the attack in the woods, “He was looking for me. That’s what it was, the seizure, he was using the link to find me.”

For a moment, Yennefer just looks at her. “He shouldn’t have risked that. We have no idea what it could do to either of you.”

She rolls her eyes, feels the same frustration bubbling up. “But it worked!”

“You could’ve seriously gotten hurt. It was reckless—”

“What choice did he have after _you_ left him—”

“Those were _his_ instructions—”

“You shouldn’t have listened!” Ciri glares. “ _You_ know him as well as I do. You can’t let him always send us away when he _needs us_.”

Yennefer shakes her head and moves to stand. “I am not having this same stupid fight again. You’re just a child.”

“I’m the Lion Cub of Cintra and the charge of a witcher; I’m more than _just a child_ ,” she hisses. Yennefer doesn’t stop walking to the door, but Ciri isn’t done. “And _you_ ,” she says coldly, “you’re one of the most powerful sorceresses on the continent even with faulty magic.” Yennefer freezes, but doesn’t turn around. “But you left him to die. You could’ve taken on two times as many men without breaking a sweat. Only you were a coward—”

“I am _not_ a coward,” she spits, finally turning back to face her. “And you don’t know the _first thing_ about magic.”

“Then _teach me_ ,” Ciri counters.

And Yennefer just. Stares. At her. For what feels like ever. “Alright,” she says, fight gone.

“Alright,” Ciri agrees.

Then Jaskier snores himself awake and the tension breaks as he fawns over Ciri.

-

It’s not a truce, but it’s as close as the two of them have ever been. They spend the rest of the night going over tracking spells and the basics as they come up. Yennefer’s a pretty shit teacher and Ciri’s a pain in the ass student, but it works.

By the time the sun rises, they’ve managed to levitate a feather, successfully draw and activate a rune that allows the target to track the caster’s location, and scare Jaskier off.

When the room is painted a bright orange by the light pouring in through the window, Ciri pins Yennefer in place with a sharp searching gaze.

After a moment, she shatters the silent peace. “Why are you here? You and Jaskier can’t stand each other, you’re angry with Geralt, and there’s nothing tying you to me.”

She opens her mouth to answer, but finds she doesn’t like any of the ones that she comes up with. “I don’t know,” she finally settles on. The truth, or something shaped like it. “I tried to avoid Geralt at every turn, yet I still stumbled upon you two in the woods.” She shrugs. “I guess I gave up.”

“He loves you, you know. I can feel the echoes of it every time he looks at you.” She doesn’t sound accusatory, but it still stings like a barb. “You love him, too.”

Yennefer shakes her head and lets out an empty laugh. “That doesn’t matter.”

“How?” Ciri presses, gaze relentless, making Yennefer feel like she’s being stripped of all of her defenses.

“He took my choice,” she says with a finality that usually ends a conversation. Only Ciri is far braver than most.

“You said that before, but what choice? Jaskier said he saved your life.”

She sighs. “I wanted a child and I was trying something dangerous to get one.”

Ciri, clever as she is, understands more than Yennefer meant for her to. “You can’t have them. Children.”

“I gave up my ability to have children in exchange for power. I made the choice, but I was pushed into it.”

“Was it worth it?” Ciri asks and, gods, isn’t that the question.

“No.”

Ciri nods. The two are quiet for a while before Ciri speaks again. “Couldn’t you adopt?”

This, Yennefer thinks, must be why Geralt adores this girl so much. She’s relentless and brave in how she cares for those around her.

Yennefer smiles, just a little. “Yeah, I could. But I’ve found myself a little busy at the moment. I have to teach you magic, don’t I?”

“After everything, though, you love him still,” Ciri says, ruthless, and Yennefer sighs.

“I—” she starts, but then cuts herself off. She can lie and twist and hide, but she’s tired and this girl scared her more than she’s willing to admit out loud. “Yes,” she says, but it's more of an exhale than a declaration.

Ciri nods again. “You should tell him.”

“I know,” she says, and they return to silence.

-

Ciri is up the next day with a sort of energy they hadn’t seen in her since the woods. No one would guess she’d had a fit just yesterday if they hadn’t been there. But all the adults around her _had_ been there which means they’re _driving her mad_.

And, yes, okay, she literally just had a seizure, but it was only because Geralt was looking for her and the fit had been an _accident_.

She tries to let them coddle her because she knows she scared them all.

It’s difficult, though, because there’s this static under her skin like there had been at the farm before she’d found Geralt. It’s faint now, but it hadn’t been there before yesterday. He’s coming. She knows it like she’d known him as soon as she’d seen him.

For three days, she stays inside where at least one of them can see her. She cooks with Meira and practices whatever spells Yennefer decides to show her. Jaskier has her repeat every detail about what she felt during the seizure at least three times, each time muttering about how irresponsible it was of Geralt.

She says over and over that he’s coming.

What she doesn’t say is that the static is growing every hour. She doesn’t tell them that she swears there’s an extra heartbeat—slower and faint, but steadily beating alongside hers. When she gets the first hint of his echoed emotions, she stops listening to everyone around her, focusing entirely on the filled space between her lungs. She doesn’t push hard, but she does reach.

She almost sobs when he reaches back.

That night she doesn’t sleep. She stares up at the ceiling and reaches for him a little farther each time. It doesn’t take long for him to catch on to what she’s doing. She grins at the feeling of his exasperated fondness. Every few tries a sharp pain shoots through her head and Geralt sends a burst of warning over the bond before pulling back.

Closer and closer and closer.

When the sun rises, she goes with it, finding Meira in the kitchen and joining her in preparing breakfast. The morning is silent except for the soft instructions given with the gentleness of a teacher and received with the grace of a royal.

Not long after, Yennefer and Jaskier join them. They watch her carefully like they have been since she collapsed. Or maybe since they lost Geralt. She ignores them. The static is almost too loud for her to hear anything else anyway.

At noon, it reaches its peak. There’s a pull like there had been in the woods.

Ciri feels a wave of relief and desperation and she bolts for the door. The chair she was sitting in clatters to the floor and someone yells for her, but everything that isn’t Geralt is far away underwater.

She runs.

“Cirilla, _don’t_ —” Yennefer shouts as the clearing ends and the trees begin, but she’s not listening. She ducks under a low-hanging branch and disappears into the woods.

Her feet know where to go, so she follows. She doesn’t think, she just moves.

Closer and closer and closer.

Then, all at once, the static goes silent and she sees him—alive and whole and safe and _alive_.

“GERALT!” His hope surges through her chest before his eyes land on her and she feels a little like she could drown in his relief.

He breathes a little easier and then he _moves_ and she _flies_ and then she’s crashing into him. No where else in the world feels safe like in his arms. She tries so hard not to cry, but he’s muttering promises into her hair and she feels herself crumbling.

She had been _so scared_.

“I’m right here,” he’s saying. “I’m okay, you’re okay. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

 _I knew you were okay_ , she wants to say. _Please, don’t ever scare me like that again._ But she can’t, so she just cries into his chest. She thinks he hears her anyway.

“I love you,” he says and she tightens her hold.

“I love you too,” she says when she gets herself under control. She takes a steadying breath and steps back, so his hands rest on her arms. “But if you _ever_ send me away like that again, I’ll make Yennefer turn you into a toad.”

He laughs and tugs her back to him. She goes easily, remembering her grandfather and wondering if her father would have been like this. If he would’ve made her feel so completely loved. If she would’ve still had that empty space in her chest without Geralt.

She wonders, too, if she only loves him because of Destiny or if she would’ve known him the same had he never claimed the Law of Surprise.

“I promise,” he says, voice serious enough that she believes him, “not to ever send you away again.”

She thinks maybe _why_ she loves him doesn’t matter. He’s her father and he loves her and that’s enough.

“I could have helped you,” she says instead of all the complicated things she’s thinking. “You have to trust me.”

His face twists a little in pain. “I _do_ trust you, Ciri. I just… I _need_ you safe.”

She pulls back again, scoffs, rolls her eyes. “How many times do I have to say _I’m safest with you_.”

For a moment he just stares at her, a little incredulous and a little awed. Then he shakes his head, smiles a little. “No matter what, you listen to me, alright?” She nods. “If you keep yourself _safe_ , you can stay with me.”

“What about the rest of us?” Jaskier calls as he comes into view.

Geralt grins a little wider before smothering it back down into something stern. “ _You_ can maybe tag along for a bit longer.”

Then Jaskier is laughing and hugging Geralt and proclaiming loudly how glad he is that he’s alive. Underneath the exuberance, though, Ciri sees the real emotion.

“Thought I lost you, Geralt,” he says lower.

Geralt pulls back, and looks him in the eye. His lips quirk up into a half smile. “After all these years, you still underestimate me?”

Jaskier smiles softly, eyes crinkling at the edges. “I won’t make that mistake again. Should’ve known better. It was only one minor fatal wound after all.”

He snorts and says, “I’ve had worse.”

Yennefer’s voice cuts across the comfortable warmth to drag them back to reality. “How _did_ you survive?”

Geralt looks to her and Ciri sees the way he wants to reach for her and the way he shuts that part of himself down. She wonders if it’s as obvious to the others. Based on the way Jaskier is looking at the ground instead of Geralt she thinks it must be.

Then Geralt’s expression shifts into something darker and serious. “Once they realized Ciri wasn’t there, they moved on. Left me for dead.”

Jaskier makes a noise of understanding. “Ah, yeah, that’s the first mistake. Witchers heal _much_ faster than humans.”

Geralt, pretending not to be amused, makes a noise in agreement. “Good news for me, but—”

“But that means they were coming after _me_ ,” Ciri finishes.

“They won’t get you,” Jaskier says and she looks at him and then back to Geralt.

“They _won’t_ ,” Yennefer says before Geralt can say anything. “You’re learning magic and sword fighting from the best at both. You’ll be fine because you’ve got us.”

-

After the reunion with Geralt and then with Roach and the other two horses, who Geralt had left when he felt Ciri close by, they head back to Meira’s cottage.

“So,” Meira says, when she sees the way Ciri clings to him, “you’re _Fiona’s_ father?” And Ciri’s eyes go a little wide because they haven’t exactly talked about the father thing since that one night in the tavern.

Surprise flickers across Geralt’s face before it settles back to its careful neutral. “Yes,” is all he says, but Ciri tucks a little further into his side at it anyway. His arm tightening around her is his only reaction, but it’s enough. She hides a soft smile in the fabric of his shirt.

Meira smiles knowingly but a little guarded. “Well,” she says, “I’ve heard a lot about you. Come in.”

He does, and they settle into her kitchen. She passes out mugs of tea and Geralt thanks her for taking his family in.

“Of course,” she replies, smiling at him and then looking at Yennefer fondly. “I told Yennefer she could always come back here and I meant it. The same goes to any of you.”

Jaskier pipes up then. “If you’re lucky, you won’t be seeing any of us again soon. Trouble usually follows these three pretty closely.”

Ciri, still glued to Geralt’s side, nods. “We should leave soon,” she says, mostly to Geralt, but loudly enough for everyone to hear.

He glances down at her and squeezes her shoulder before nodding and looking back to Meira. “She’s probably right.”

Meira makes a sound of agreement. “The closest city is—”

“Rivia,” Geralt finishes and Ciri perks up.

“That’s where you’re from, isn’t it?” she asks excitedly. “Can we go?”

He sighs. “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now. They know you’re with me, so I’m sure there are people looking for us there.”

Meira watches them, and there’s something between suspicion and understanding settling in the lines of her face. It raises Ciri’s hackles just a little bit. She can’t take her from him; she doesn’t _understand_.

Geralt automatically reacts to her stiffening by drifting just slightly in front of her like he’s ready to push her behind him. It makes Meira’s eyes narrow just slightly, but Ciri feels that much safer.

“Maybe one day,” he offers to her softly. “It’s been a while. When I go back, it’ll be with you.”

-

When they are finally preparing to leave, Meira seems to have softened a bit more towards Geralt, but the suspicion is still there. The woman trusts Yennefer, but that evidently does not extend to him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as she talks to Ciri sweetly. His ears pick up half the conversation and he ignores the surge of protective instinct when he realizes she’s hedging around offering to let Ciri stay with her. She’s only trying to do what’s best for the girl and he knows he doesn’t look like the best option.

Ciri steps back when Meira reaches out for her. “He’s my father,” she says. “Maybe not by blood, but by choice.” His heart does a little flip at that. “I love him. My home is with him.” She smiles then, politely and genuinely, and then straightens her shoulders, looking every inch the princess she was raised to be. “Thank you, Meira, for everything, but I am going with Geralt.”

Meira nods. She stands when Jaskier calls Ciri over to where he’s struggling with something. After a moment of watching Ciri, she walks over to him.

“You’re the witcher from the stories,” she says and it’s almost an accusation.

He grunts a confirmation, glancing sideways at her, but returning his gaze to where he’s pretending to be rearranging things in his saddle bag to give the others time.

“Witchers can’t have children,” she says and he nods. “I don’t know the story—”

“No,” he says, “you don’t.”

She smiles. “But I do know she loves you. And you love her.”

“I do,” he says more to Roach than to her.

“Good,” she says. “She’s got a lot of fire in her, that girl.”

“I know,” he replies because he does.

She looks at him for a moment, so he faces her. He’s faced worse things than an old woman who doesn’t trust witchers.

“I may not have understood exactly what happened four days ago in my kitchen, but I know it was to do with you and I know it endangered her.” This time the accusation is clear in her voice.

He does not flinch away from her gaze. “Everything I do,” he says, voice low and steady, “is to protect her.” His eyes flick over to where Ciri is laughing at Jaskier and Yen. “I would never purposefully put her in danger.”

Ciri is grinning when she turns to look at him. He can feel her in his chest, light and happy and brilliant. Her smile brightens when she meets his eyes.

“They say witchers can’t feel human emotions,” Meira says, easy and mildly curious like it’s a bit of town gossip.

He doesn’t look away from his daughter when he answers. “They’re wrong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed!! please do let me know with a comment even if it's just a quick <3 bc it really does mean the world!!

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on my [personal tumblr](https://sailingthenightsea.tumblr.com) OR my brand new [witcher sideblog](https://geraltxrivia.tumblr.com) :)
> 
> also of you're into it i've got an [editing account](https://www.instagram.com/sailingvfx/) on instagram where i will be posting some witcher edits soon~


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